March 31, 2008

I’ve been embroiled in this dear-God-I’m-becoming-one-of-those-kinds-of-people dog rescue situation, and I didn’t want to post until I was certain of the outcome.

Long story short:

Cristian and I decide to take Fluppy for an evening stroll.

A sad, sad man stops us as we’re walking and asks if we’ve seen his lost dog. He has a flyer with her name and picture on it. He is so, so sad. We solemnly promise to keep a lookout. I clutch Fluppy’s leash just a little bit tighter.

20 seconds after the man drives off, a dog runs across the street ahead of us. This dog looks a lot like the dog on the flyer. A whole Hell of a lot. “Belle!” we call, giddy with do-goodery, “Belle, come here!”

The dog runs right over, thrilled to be greeted in a friendly fashion.

Upon inspection, there is no way this dog is Belle.

I mean, he has giant testicles, for one thing.

What we’ve done is, we’ve called a stray dog over to us. A needy, skinny mutt. With mangy fur.

At least he’s friendly. He practically tap dances alongside as we make our way back home.

We lure him into our backyard and close up the gate. Fluppy is pretty much OMGWTF at this point. She wants us to know that she can tap dance too, that she is the Ann Miller of tap dancing dogs, that there is no way we could ever do any better.

A heartfelt conversation is had between the primates of the household. The primates decide to take Lil NoName into Austin’s animal shelter, and adopt him only if it comes down to either us or the executioner’s chair.

A week passes. NoName has oodles of charm and a handsome mug, but so do 300 other dogs at the pound.

Perhaps his complicating medical factors are what turn potential adopters away? He has heartworms, mange, and a respiratory infection.

No one else steps up to bat, so Cristian goes off to the shelter to bail sweet lil NoName out, while I work overtime in anticipation of some hefty vet bills.